By Friday, there's another event. This one's even bigger. The comms department is hosting its annual alumni fundraiser, and, as usual, Riley insists I tag along. She's convinced I need to "network" if I'm actually serious about my major, but honestly, I'm just here for the free food, not to schmooze with suits.
The party's on a trendy rooftop, all brick walls and fairy lights. The October evening air carries a hint of smoke from someone's cigarette, mixing with expensive perfume and the sharp tang of wine. Alumni in pricey clothes are scattered around, chatting with professors while students hover near the snack table, trying to look impressive. I spot a couple of people from class, but most of the room is older, deep in conversations about money and university politics. The city sprawls below us, a carpet of lights stretching to the horizon, and I can hear the distant hum of traffic beneath the chatter.
And, naturally, Parker's here. Because why wouldn't he be.
He's across the patio, easy in a navy blazer with rolled-up sleeves, surrounded by alumni and faculty. He's laughing, looking perfectly at home. His shirt is crisp white against the blazer, and even from here I can see how comfortable he is in this world of donors and department politics. Meanwhile, I'm sipping a tasteless sparkling water, feeling out of place in the dress Riley forced me to wear.
Riley gives me a nudge. "You're staring again."
"It's called observing," I say.
She grins, teasing. "If you say so."
I keep watching. Parker scans the room, and when his eyes find mine, he actually pauses. My heart skips. He says something to his group, steps away, and heads straight for me. His movement is deliberate, confident, cutting through the crowd like he owns the space.
Riley's eyes go wide. "He's coming over."
"Don't make it weird," I mutter.
"Good luck," she whispers, then disappears, leaving me stranded at the railing.
Parker stops nearby, hands in his pockets, face unreadable. Up close, I can see the way the fairy lights catch in his eyes.
"Avery," he says.
"Professor."
"Didn't think I'd see you here."
I shrug. "Free food, hard to resist." I pause. "Plus, you said you'd see me again."
His lips quirk. "I did say that."
"So here I am."
"Here you are."
We stand there, surrounded by the noise of the party, neither of us moving. Someone laughs too loud behind us. A glass clinks against another.
"How are your classes going?" he asks. "Besides mine."
"Good. But yours is the best."
"Is that flattery?"
"Nope. Just the truth."
He tilts his head, studying me. "You don't seem like the type to hand out compliments."
"I'm not."
"Then I appreciate it."
He says it in this soft, teasing way that makes my cheeks burn. I turn and pretend I'm interested in the city lights. The breeze picks up, and I suppress a shiver.
"Do you always mingle at these things?" I ask. "Or is this a special occasion?"
"Comes with the territory. Donors like seeing us engage with students."
"Sounds exhausting."
"Sometimes." He pauses. "Not tonight."
I glance his way. "Why not tonight?"
He hesitates, like he's thinking about how much to say. The music from inside drifts out, something jazzy and low.
"You're not like the others," he finally says. "Most freshmen are still figuring out who they want to be. You seem to already know."
I let out a quiet laugh. "You really think that?"
"Don't you?"
I almost dodge the question, but for some reason, I don't.
"I knew who I was. Now? Still figuring it out."
He nods. "That's more honest than most people your age would admit."
"Is that a compliment?"
He shrugs. "Maybe. A little of both."
The silence that follows is heavy, almost electric. I'm hyperaware of how close we're standing, how if I moved just slightly our arms would touch.
"That answer you gave in class," he says. "About starting over costing everything."
"What about it?"
"It felt personal."
I meet his eyes. "Maybe it was."
"Want to talk about it?"
"Not really."
He nods, doesn't push. "Fair enough."
Another beat of silence. The rooftop feels smaller now, more intimate despite the crowd.
"How did you handle him?" Parker asks quietly. "After class. In the hallway."
So he knows about that too.
"Same way I handled class. Just kept moving forward."
"He seemed angry."
"He'll get over it."
Parker's expression shifts, something darker crossing his face. His jaw tightens, and for a moment he looks almost protective. "If he gives you trouble..."
"I can handle Liam."
"I'm sure you can." But his jaw is tight. "Still. If it becomes a problem..."
"It won't."
He looks at me for a long moment, like he's trying to decide whether to believe me. The wind picks up again, stronger this time, and I catch another hint of his cologne. Something expensive and warm.
Then someone calls his name from across the patio. A faculty member waving him over, impatient.
He sighs. "I should go."
"Yeah."
But he doesn't move. Neither do I. I can feel my pulse in my throat.
He says my name, almost under his breath.
"Yeah?" I ask.
He leans in, just close enough for me to catch the scent of his cologne. Fresh, woodsy, expensive. His voice drops, meant for me alone.
"This..." He stops himself. "Wednesday. Don't sit in the back."
My breath catches. "Where should I sit?"
"Somewhere I can see you."
It's not really a request. It's a challenge.
I meet his gaze. "I'll think about it."
He gives me a slow, knowing smile. "You do that."
And just like that, he's gone, melting back into the crowd.
I'm still there, clutching the railing, heart racing, hands shaking. The metal is cold under my palms, grounding me.
Riley reappears, practically buzzing. "What'd he say?"
"Nothing," I say, not fooling her for a second.
She laughs. "You look like you just stuck your finger in a socket."
"Just small talk," I insist.
"That was not small talk."
She's right, and we both know it.
I watch Parker rejoin his group, but every so often, he glances my way. Each time our eyes meet, something hot coils in my stomach.
Riley whistles. "You're asking for trouble."
"I know."
"And you don't care?"
"Not even a little."
She groans. "This is going to end in disaster."
"Probably."
But I can't help smiling. The anger that's been sitting in my chest since I caught Liam and Madison together, it's still there, but it's changed. Sharpened into something else.
Something that feels like power.
We leave an hour later, Riley chattering about some senior she talked to while I stayed mostly silent. The night air is cooler now, biting through my thin dress. My heels click against the sidewalk as we walk back to the dorms. Riley's voice fades into background noise as I replay every word Parker said, every look he gave me.
That night, back in my dorm, I'm lying on my bed, laptop open, scrolling through Instagram without really seeing anything. The room is dark except for the blue glow of my screen. Riley's desk lamp casts weird shadows on the wall.
My phone buzzes.
Parker's number. You left early.
I stare at the screen, then type back: Had to. Before I did something stupid.
Three dots flicker, disappear, then reappear.
Like what?
I hesitate. My fingers hover over the keyboard. The room suddenly feels too warm.
Like forget you're my professor.
I hit send before I can second-guess it.
The dots appear immediately. Stay a while longer.
For a full minute, nothing. Then:
Dangerous game you're playing, Miss Lane.
I smile at the screen. Who says I'm playing?
Another pause. Longer this time. I hold my breath.
See you Wednesday. Front row.
Not a question. An order.
I type back: Maybe.
His response is instant: Definitely.
I put my phone down, heart pounding. My hands are trembling.
Riley's already asleep, snoring softly across the room. Her fairy lights are still on, casting a soft pink glow.
I close my laptop, staring up at the ceiling. The shadows from the streetlight outside make patterns that shift and change.
Wednesday's four days away. Four days until I walk into his class, sit exactly where he told me to, and see what happens next.
Four days until Liam watches from the back row and realizes he's already lost.
I close my eyes, but sleep doesn't come for a long time. When it does, I dream of navy blazers and city lights and a voice that says my name like it's a secret.
Game on.